


Shell Cottage

by Lunamionny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, F/M, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Luna Lovegood Being Luna Lovegood, Missing Scene, Nightmares, POV Hermione Granger, Recovery, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Shell Cottage (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 20:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18301148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunamionny/pseuds/Lunamionny
Summary: Ron's eyes slowly wandered up and down her body before finally settling on her face. She was about to ask him what was wrong, but the intensity of his gaze made the words die in her throat."You're driving me crazy," he said softly. "You must know that."After months of relentless cold, hunger and fear, a betrayal and forgiveness, recent torture and a precarious escape, can the safety and comfort of Shell Cottage help Hermione and Ron ignite the fire that's been sparking between them for years?





	1. Day One: Respite

**Author's Note:**

> All characters, world etc belong to JK Rowling. '*' indicates words from the original work of JKR.

A bolt of pain pierced through the shifting shadows of Hermione's dreams, making her muscles spasm and awakening her with a violent jolt. 

She hurt everywhere.

A sharp, shooting pain burst from her ribs each time she inhaled and there was dull ache along each of her limbs. She became aware that she was lying on something soft, softer than the camping beds she'd become accustomed to over the last months. She tentatively opened her eyes and groaned because the incoming light initially seemed to burn her very corneas. The world was a mass of blurred shapes and she blinked in an attempt to clear her vision, trying to work out where she was. Where were the others? Were they okay?

"Ron?" Hermione said the word instinctively, although her mind hadn't seemed to have connected with her mouth properly and it came out as more of a grunt. She heard a scuffle near her and then felt whatever she was lying on give way slightly as someone sat next to her, clasping one of her hands in both of theirs. A blur of beige and red drifted into her vision.

"Hermione? You're okay. We're at Bill and Fleur's cottage. We apparated here when we escaped from Malfoy Manor." She knew immediately from his voice that it was Ron. She inhaled deeply, because breathing in the scent of him was like taking a relaxation potion: her muscles seemed to soften and the pain in her temples dulled ever so slightly. She normally would have felt alarmed  at her blurred eyesight, but the feel of her hand in Ron's seemed to ground her, like the anchor of a ship in the midst of a squall. 

"Are you okay? Where's Harry?" she asked urgently, grateful her words were sounding more coherent.

"I'm fine. Harry's fine too." His voice was quiet but firm.

To Hermione's relief, her surroundings were coming in to sharper focus. She realised she was lying on a sofa in what must be Bill and Fleur's sitting room, but couldn't see much of the room because Ron's face took up nearly all of her vision. He was frowning down at her, concern etched in the lines of his forehead. She heard the distant crashing of waves and a lone cry of a seagull.

"Do you remember what happened?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"I..." And then, unexpected and unbidden, memories flooded her mind: a dark figure, face framed with wild black hair loomed over her…pain like she had never felt before - as if her bones were on fire and her skin was being doused in acid...blood, thick like syrup, running down her neck as a knife cut through her skin…the glint of crystal as a chandelier fell - "Yes…how did we get out?" Hermione interrupted her own thoughts, forcefully pushing the images away.

Ron explained about the eye in Harry's mirror, the appearance of Dobby and everything that had happened since. "And then I apparated here with you, took you straight inside and you passed out for a few minutes. Fleur healed the cut on your neck but she said it would be sore for a few days and you've got some cuts and bruises but otherwise should be okay, she said -" Ron stopped abruptly. It appeared he'd run out of breath. He inhaled, then continued more calmly. "Harry's apparated just now, with Griphook and Dobby. I just saw them out the window -"

The door of the sitting room creaked open and Fleur walked in. She was wearing a white apron with a bottle of Skele-gro in the pocket, and was holding a tattered book in her hand. She stopped midstride, her eyes sharply flitting between Ron, Hermione and their clasped hands, before meeting Hermione's gaze.

"You're awake Hermione? How are you feeling?" she asked gently.

"Okay...everything aches a bit...but I'm okay." Hermione forced her voice to sound stronger than she felt.

Fleur nodded briefly, then shifted uncomfortably, as if not sure how to say her next words.

"The house elf that apparated with Harry," she began, then paused. "He's dead."

"What…how?!" Ron exclaimed, incredulous.

"I think it's you that need to give us answers,'" Fleur reproached her brother-in-law, although her voice was kind. "We couldn't get much out of Harry."

Hermione felt a painful stab of loss for the house elf. Her grief merged with a flush of anger - anger  that someone else that had helped them - that had tried to do the right thing - had been taken from them.

"Harry's digging a grave for him. Without magic." Fleur said quietly.

There was a silence as Fleur's words hung in the air between them. None of them questioned why Harry would dig the grave without magic. Hermione understood that it was Harry's way of giving something back to the house elf that had done so much for them.

Ron frowned down at Hermione.

"I'll go and help him. Will you be okay?"

"Of course," Hermione said, although a part of her - a silly, weak part that she tried to squash away - didn't want him to leave. Ron gave her a tight smile, squeezed her hand and released it slowly before leaving to help their friend. As he exited the room, it was as if a draft of cold air hit Hermione, rippling uncomfortably over her skin, and the pain throughout her body heightened, sharp and unrelenting.

Fleur surveyed Hermione for a moment and then sank in to an armchair by the sofa. Hermione's eyes rested on the book in the Fleur's hand. She recognised it as one she had revised from for her O.W.Ls: _Remedies and Reliefs for Dark Hexes and Curses._ As she gazed at the book, phrases from the chapter on the Cruciatus Curse came back to her:

_Even if victims have been subject to the curse for a relatively short period of time, it is common for them to experience global pain for several days afterwards as their body recovers…disturbed sleep is also common…vivid dreams…nightmares...Unfortunately, there are few, if any, potions or spells that can speed the recovery of the afflictions caused by this curse. This is one of the reasons it has been classified as an Unforgiveable Curse...Rest and the comfort of loved ones are the most effective factors in healing..._

Hermione's eyes drifted up to meet Fleur's eyes. She didn't know how much the French woman knew about what had happened to them, and wasn't sure how much she should share, even if she had the energy to explain it. But it was clear from the Skele-gro, the book and the curious but worried expression on Fleur's face that she was doing all she could to help them.

"Thanks. Thank you for helping us," Hermione murmured, not quite knowing how to voice the appreciation she felt.

"Of course," Fleur said dismissively. "Now - I'll help you up to bed. You need to rest somewhere more comfortable."

"I will, when I've come back." Hermione moved to sit up, ignoring the waves of pain that coursed through her body as she did so.

"Come back from where?" Fleur asked sharply.

"From saying goodbye to Dobby."

"No, you have to rest!" Fleur insisted.

"I'm fine." Hermione hissed the lie out through clenched teeth, visibly grimacing.

"You can't even move properly!" Fleur objected, putting the book down and moving to help Hermione up. Hermione ignored her comment and waved the French woman's hands away as she struggled, successfully, to get to her feet, giving Fleur a defiant look as she did so. Fleur's face softened.

"Okay, okay. I'll get you a dressing gown and help you down the garden," she relented.  

As they exited Shell Cottage, Hermione and Fleur were joined by Luna and Bill who had come down from upstairs. Hermione's body ached with every step she took down to the grave at the bottom of the garden. To her annoyance, and despite her best efforts, she knew she was doing a poor job of hiding her discomfort. Her unsteady and weak legs were giving her away.

As they approached the grave that Ron and Dean had helped Harry dig, Hermione noticed in the half-light of dawn that Ron had dirt smeared on his hands and arms. He even had a smudge of it on his nose, reminding Hermione with a pang of nostalgia of the first time she had met him on the Hogwarts Express. She looked down at the ground in a further attempt to steady herself and noticed with confusion that Ron's feet were bare. Then she realised, with a rush of affection for him, that he had given his shoes and socks to Dobby, as a last gift.

Ron turned as she approached and put his arm around her. It was a gesture that had become more common place over the last couple of months and had started to feel natural and normal. Hermione fitted into the crook of his shoulder as if they had originally been part of one whole. A whole that had broken at some point and had then been mended back together again.

At his touch, Hermione instantly felt sturdier on her feet and something - she couldn't fathom what - flooded her body, dulling the pain. She purposely leaned in to him more, craving more of his warmth and the seemingly pain-alleviating effects of his touch.

Then Hermione listened as Luna, in her gentle, lilting voice, managed to put in to words the grief-stricken thoughts of all of them.

 

* * *

Much to Fleur's irritation, Hermione didn't rest that day. Because something had changed in Harry. He appeared to have a new sense of purpose and a clarity of mind that he hadn't had in a long time. Possibly ever. Hermione didn't know if it was due to Dobby's death, or having been captured and on the verge of facing Voldemort again - or something else entirely - but something had changed in him.

Not long after burying Dobby, Hermione and Ron were hovering on the threshold of the sitting room of Shell Cottage, eavesdropping on a hushed exchange between Harry, Bill and Fleur, who were on the stairs. Harry was insisting on being able to speak to Griphook and Ollivander. Hermione, unusually, was a bit lost as to what she should do and she could tell from the looks she was exchanging with Ron that he felt equally unsure. This focused, determined Harry was unfamiliar to them. They finally heard Bill give in and Harry starting to head up the stairs to speak with Griphook, when he stopped and shouted down to them.

"I need you two, as well!"* In response, Hermione and Ron to emerged sheepishly into the hall.  

"How are you?" Harry asked Hermione when she joined him on the stairs. "You were amazing - coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that-"*

Not for the first time that morning, Hermione felt a rush of relief at not having failed friends - at not having given the Death Eaters any leverage- but being reminded of Malfoy Manor made her heart speed up and chest tighten, and she had to wilfully push away the unwanted images that flashed across her mind.   

She gave Harry a weak smile and felt Ron momentarily wrap his arm around her, giving her shoulders a quick squeeze. Again, she felt something soothing charge through her as Ron touched her, causing the tension in her shoulders to ease and her pain to fade where his arm had been. What _was_ that? Hermione thought, puzzled, glancing at Ron. What was happening when he touched her? Was he performing some kind of healing magic without telling her? But she could tell just by looking at him that Ron was oblivious to the effect he was having on her. Hermione knew him well enough to be confident of that.

She didn't have any time to dwell on it further, for the next hour or so was taken up with an intense discussion with Griphook. Hermione was trying to keep up with Harry's thought processes, trying to fit the pieces together in her mind: _Harry wanted to break in to Gringotts? That was ridiculous, surely…and the Lestrange's vault?...Harry must be convinced there was Horcrux in there…but what had made him so certain?..._

A furtive exchange between her, Harry and Ron on the stairs answered some of Hermione's questions before they went to see Ollivander. Hermione felt the now familiar guilt as Ollivander confirmed that Harry's wand couldn't be repaired. Again, new revelations seemed to spark new questions: _there_ had _been something unusual about how Harry's wand had acted the night of the seven Potters…but what did that connection_ mean _?...the Elder wand was real?!...did that mean the Hallows were real too?...no…they were just a fairy tale, surely.._.

Hermione's head was spinning with theories and hypotheses, and although exhausting, it was a welcome distraction from the pain in her body and the memories of the night before. As Harry explained his thinking to Ron and Hermione in the garden of Shell Cottage, she felt relief that Harry was focusing on the Horcruxes rather than the Hallows. That's what Dumbledore had said they should do. No good could come of something as powerful as the Elder wand, Hermione was sure of that.

And all the while, Ron had been by her side, as if some invisible string connected them that stopped one of them going too far from the other. As she went to sit in the chair in Griphook's room, Ron perched on the arm. As she experienced a surge of nausea at the thought of Voldemort knowing about the destruction of Harry's wand, Hermione noticed how Ron reproached Harry for bringing it up and wilfully changed the subject.

Hermione realised she was taking a huge comfort in Ron's presence. She hated to admit it, because it felt like a weakness, but she knew her mind and body needed time to recover from the torture that had been inflicted on them. It was this, and the constant, ever-present knowledge of her parents' absence lurking in the shadows at the back of her mind, that was making Hermione feel more vulnerable than she had ever felt in her life.

 

* * *

As the sunset over Shell Cottage that evening, Ron helped Hermione up the steep stairs to her bedroom. She felt an overwhelming tiredness. A tiredness that seemed to seep right in to the centre of her muscles, right into the core of her bones, and she sank with relief on to the soft mattress and freshly washed sheets of the bed that Bill had made up. The room was sparse of furniture, with nowhere for Ron to sit, so he perched uncertainly on the edge of her bed.

When Hermione's head hit the pillow her heavy eyelids fell shut of their own accord, and she was instantly confronted with a vivid image of a leering Fenrir Greyback, which seemed to morph grotesquely into Bellatrix Lestrange's frenzied expression and wild black hair. Hermione's eyes snapped open. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure Ron could hear it and she was gasping desperately, as if she'd just been running from Snatchers again.

Ron was looking down at her with that same anxious expression he had worn that morning. Hermione's heart instantly slowed, her body calming at the sight of him. Her eyelids were so, so heavy but she fought to keep them open. She desperately wanted to sleep, but was scared of the images and visions that she feared would come with it. She wanted to explain this to Ron but was finding it hard to form words in to meaningful sentences.

"Stay," was all she managed to mumble.

"Sure…I'll stay 'til you're asleep."

Hermione gave in to the heaviness of her eyelids and they fluttered shut again. Half her mind was still fighting to stay awake - to keep present in the room - whilst the other half was drifting in to disturbed sleep...a sleep of smashing crystal...a dagger dripping blood...of Dobby's dead eyes...Her heart started pounding again. She was still conscious of Ron sitting by her and, without being fully aware of what she was doing, she lifted her hand, clasping at his pyjama top.

"No. Don't leave," she heard herself say with surprising conviction, before her hand slackened and dropped to her side.

Hermione was aware of a stillness in Ron, as if his whole body had tensed up. She considered forcing her eyes open to see the expression on her best friend's face but then she felt him move. She heard him say something - something about "never leaving her again" - and then sensed him move to lie down next to her. She felt with gratitude the warmth of his body inches from hers and was vaguely aware of placing her arm across his chest before sleep finally took her.

 

 

 

 


	2. Day Two: Remedies and Reliefs

Hermione awoke slowly the next morning and judged from the blue light of the room that it was only just dawn. Ron was lying on his back and Hermione was turned towards him on her side, with her head resting in the crook of his elbow and her arm draped around his chest. She could hear his deep, steady breathing and guessed that he must still be asleep.

Without moving, Hermione mentally scanned her body. The pain from the Cruciatus Curse still rippled through her, but thankfully it was duller compared to yesterday. And again, where her body touched Ron's, there was that odd but soothing sensation, as if the pain was muted. She lay still, not wanting to wake him - not wanting to break their embrace - savouring the touch of his skin against hers and the warmth of his body.

She remembered the times in the night when Ron had gently shaken her awake because she had been crying out, tearful and terrified, from a depths of a nightmare. Ron had taken her in his arms then, and she had let him draw her body to him without protest, as her shaking stilled and her tears dried. The contents of her nightmares were hazy now and she was glad of this, but they had left a churning in the pit of her stomach and an unrelenting sense of foreboding lingering in the corners of her mind.

A few months ago, waking up like this with Ron would have led to immediate embarrassment for both of them and a moving away from each other, with blushes and excuses. But Hermione realised that this morning, as the blue light of the room gradually turned to a warm yellow, she didn't feel awkward at all. He'd become so familiar to her. Spending so much time in close proximity to each other, the fact that Ron had left but returned, the betrayal and forgiveness, her recent torture and their escape - it all seemed to dwarf the petty embarrassments and adolescent awkwardness.

As Hermione listened to Ron's rhythmic breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath her cheek, she thought that, for now at least, this just felt right.

They went down to breakfast holding hands. Hermione had absentmindedly clutched Ron's hand as they made their way down the stairs without being fully aware of it. Harry was already sitting at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs on toast whilst Bill was attempting to simultaneously charm some washing up in the sink, boil a kettle on the hob and scramble eggs in a pan.

Harry looked up at them as they entered. His gaze fell and rested for a long moment on their clasped hands. He paused in his eating, his expression unreadable, and then, after a moment, wordlessly started to chew again. Blood rushed to Hermione's cheeks and she instinctively pulled her hand out of Ron's and stepped away from him. Harry's stare had renewed all of her self-consciousness and she realised, her blush deepening, that Harry would have noticed Ron's absence from his bed last night, as the two boys were meant to be sharing a room.

Suddenly, it was as if the spell of the early morning had broken and this new intimacy with Ron felt awkward and unfamiliar. She noticed a look of confusion cross Ron's face as she edged away from him, but the next instant his expression was neutral again. He went and joined Harry at the table, as the four of them exchanged morning greetings. Hermione, in an effort to overcome her awkwardness, turned to Bill.

"Can I help with anything Bill?" she asked with forced casualness.

Bill insisted he had everything under control, so she went to sit with Harry and Ron at the table. She noticed that all three of them seemed to make a concerted effort at small talk - the best way to cook eggs and whether Bill's were as good as Molly's - and to Hermione's relief, by the end of breakfast, things felt nearly normal between them.

* * *

Not long after breakfast, Harry disappeared from the cottage. Hermione assumed he had gone to walk along the cliffs or the beach. She and Ron knew him well enough by now to know that he wanted to be alone and so they didn't attempt to follow or find him. Whilst waiting for Griphook's decision about the Gringott's break-in, it seemed the three of them were in a kind of limbo.

The day passed with Hermione and the others completing various chores around the house and garden. People passed awkwardly in hallways and stairs; the cottage was small for so many of them. Occasionally, they would find themselves unintentionally congregating in the kitchen or sitting room and conversations would ensue: Luna telling stories of her term at Hogwarts under the Carrows' regime, Dean of months running from the Snatchers, and Bill of the Order's recent triumphs and losses against Voldemort and his growing army of Death Eaters.

Despite the risk of feeling on top of each other in the cottage, Hermione was actually grateful for the excuse to be close to Ron. The two of them stayed in close proximity all day. Their eyes would often meet whilst others talked around them and they held each other's gaze as if having some unspoken conversation of their own. When they did speak, they seemed to revert back to their usual bickering about the Hallows and the Horcrux search. But the bickering seemed artificial in some way; the veneer of normality whilst underneath new feelings were stirring in Hermione. Or maybe they were old feelings, but ones which she was only just fully acknowledging.  

Hermione frequently found herself unconsciously edging towards Ron because she was starting to crave his touch and it's odd pain-relieving effects. She would hold on to him as they climbed down the uneven steps to the beach to collect driftwood for the fire, half heartedly wrap her arms around him as they walked round the garden, purposely rest her thigh against his as they sat together at the cramped kitchen table for lunch. But she would always pull away before it become too intimate, before others might notice and start wondering. Just touching enough to get a fix - or whatever it was - then withdraw. She didn't want Ron to get the wrong impression. She would be mortified if he thought she was attempting some outrageously awful flirting.

Because despite all that had happened between them, she still felt unsure about his feelings towards her.

* * *

It was the evening of their second day at Shell Cottage and Hermione, Ron and Harry were cleaning up after dinner. Harry was clumsily attempting to charm a cloth to wash some dishes, whilst Ron dried them. Hermione was putting the dishes away, practicing using Bellatrix's wand, which still felt alien and unfamiliar in her hands. She was brandishing it at a pile of clean plates, floating them up to a cupboard, when Fleur came and asked Ron if he could help move some boxes from one of the spare rooms to the attic to make more room for the "recent influx of fugitives we are accommodating."

As Ron passed Hermione on his way out of the kitchen, he furtively slipped his hand through her wandless one, giving it a gentle squeeze. Hermione quickly glanced his way, and they exchanged small smiles before Ron released her hand and left the room. As Hermione felt the lingering heat of Ron's touch, she noticed that Harry had been eyeing their exchange out of the corner of his eye.

There was an almighty crash as the plates that Hermione had been charming towards the cupboards fell abruptly through the air and smashed on the floor. She realised she had got so distracted as Ron had exited that she had broken her Wingardiam Leviosa charm.

"Oops!" she exclaimed with a small laugh. "Clumsy as always..."

Harry was silent, looking at her with a steadfast expression.

"Not like you to mess up a Wingardio Leviosa," he commented lightly, although there was an edge of hardness to his voice.

"Still trying to get used to this wand," Hermione replied with false brightness, trying to shake off the awkwardness she felt. She reparo'ed the plates back to their original form.

Harry turned back to the dishes but apparently wasn't concentrating on his own charm either. The cloth was haphazardly flapping about in the sink, spraying water up the sides and across the worktops. After a moment of awkward silence, he gave up on any pretence at continuing the washing up, lowered his wand and turned to face Hermione.

"What's going on?" he demanded. His voice was quiet but serious - almost aggressive - and took Hermione by surprise.

"What do you mean?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, seemingly unconvinced by Hermione's ignorance. He nodded towards the door where Ron had recently exited.

"With Ron? What's going on?"

Hermione paused. She thought Harry had known about her feelings towards Ron and was okay with it. He had caught on at the time of the Lavender debacle last year and had been comforting and supportive.

Hermione's thoughts raced as they often did when she wasn't quite understanding something - or someone - and was trying to make sense of what she had missed _: maybe Harry wasn't okay with it...why wouldn't he be? Did he know something she didn't?_ Hermione's previous insecurities and paranoia returned. _Had Ron said something to Harry about his feelings for her - or Merlin -_ _lack_ _of feelings? Was Ron just returning her affections because he was worried about her after she had been tortured, and he was concerned rejecting her might hinder her recovery?_ She thought of how she had practically _commanded_ him to stay with her the night before. What if he hadn't wanted to but did it out of obligation? Hermione felt her cheeks burn with shame and embarrassment.

"Harry, I - I think something's happening, yes. Do you - do you think it's a bad idea?"

Harry's face softened. "It's about bloody time," he said, as he discarded his wand and started to wash up the Muggle way. "It's just the timing. Things are going to get even more dangerous than they already are, and if you two are all loved up...we can't afford to be distracted right now..."

Hermione shoulders relaxed and she exhaled in relief. She hadn't even realised she'd been holding her breath.

"Oh, that's what your concerned about?" She struggled to find the right words for her next question. "You - it's not that you think...I'm silly for acting like I do, because - because my feelings aren't reciprocated?"

And to her surprise Harry's face broke into a grin and he let out a quiet, knowing chuckle.

"No, I think that should be the least of your worries," he said as he expertly cleaned and rinsed a dinner plate.

"How do you know? Has Ron said something to you?" She knew it was unfair for her to ask Harry to potentially betray Ron's confidence, and she hated how needy she was probably sounding, but she couldn't help herself. Insecure thoughts were still tripping over themselves in her mind. Harry stopped his vigorous scrubbing of a cup and looked up at her kindly.

"We don't really talk about that stuff…well, not properly, it's more what he _doesn't_ say...but also...maybe you should ask him about destroying the locket..."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

Harry hesitated and Hermione knew him well enough to know he was working through an internal dilemma.

"When Ron smashed open the locket with the sword, the Horcrux put up a fight...I can't say anymore...he might need to tell you in his own time." Harry said the last words with finality and turned back to the washing up, indicating he wasn't going to say anymore about the locket's destruction. 

"Thanks," Hermione said after a moments silence, to communicate she understood that Harry had said all he felt he could. She started to dry the dishes. "And - don't worry, we're both really focused - on the Horcrux hunt."

"And falling out," Harry continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "When you two fall out, things just don't go right...I need you two. We have to do this together. Like you said, that was decided months ago. Years even."

Hermione stilled at the sound of her own words being echoed back to her. Words she had spoken last summer as the three of them had sat in Ron's room at the Burrow, planning their quest to find the Horcruxes. Hermione turned to look at Harry, placing a cup she was drying gently on the side.

Thoughts were assembling into logical patterns in her mind, slotting together in to a meaningful whole. Hermione understood that Harry had finally, after all these years, accepted that he had to let people help him. Accepted that it would be impossible to do what he had been tasked to do alone.

Hermione quietly watched him as the low sun cast rays of light across the kitchen. He was adeptly and efficiently washing up now he was doing it the Muggle way and Hermione fleetingly wondered how many times the young Harry had been made to do the chore at the Dursley's. Harry turned to look at her curiously, no doubt feeling her gaze on him. And Hermione saw then, more than ever before, the vulnerability behind his eyes. Wordlessly, she abruptly reached out and wrapped her arms around him, embracing her best friend in tight hug which he instinctively reciprocated.

The two friends stayed like that for some time, as the sun set over the sea, causing slivers of red and gold light to bleed out across the horizon.

* * *

Hermione was in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor again, standing in the centre of the room, surrounded by Lucius Malfoy, Fenrir Greyback and Bellatrix Lestrange.

The three Death Eaters were looking gleefully up at something above and behind her. Hermione turned and followed their gazes to the large, ornate chandelier that hung down from the ceiling. She saw Dobby balancing on top of it, turning his hands frantically as if trying to unscrew it. But no - now he wasn't unscrewing it - he had a small knife in his hand and was frantically trying to cut a thick piece of rope that was tied to the chandelier. Hermione's eyes moved down, following the length of rope and she saw with horror that it was actually a noose.

And hanging from it was Ron.

His legs were kicking out at the air in vein and his hands were gripped around the rope where it was cutting into his neck. Guttural noises emitted from his mouth and his face was swollen and red. He met Hermione's gaze, his eyes desperate and pleading.

"Hermione! Hermione!"

She spun around and Harry was suddenly there, being held by Bellatrix who was thrusting a wand into his throat. Harry, though, was looking surprising calm. "I told you not to get distracted. What have you let happen?" he asked, his voice quiet and sad.

Hermione looked back up at Ron.

"We can save him! Where's my wand?!" She frantically groped around her person but couldn't find it.

"You don't have your wand," Harry said dully. He looked up at Ron, a resigned expression on his face. "This is your fault. You weren't focused."

The noises Ron was making were becoming fainter now and his legs seemed to be kicking more feebly. Hermione couldn't understand Harry's attitude.

"No! No! Where's my wand?!" Hermione said again. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! We have to save him Harry, we can still do it! -" But she was rendered speechless as she saw that the wand Bellatrix was thrusting in to Harry's neck was actually her own.

"It's okay Hermione, it's okay!" The voice this time was Ron's and she looked up at him, not understanding how he was managing to speak.

"Don't worry Ron, we'll get you down!"

"Hermione, wake up!" It was Ron's voice again, which was strange as he was still struggling with the rope and his lips hadn't moved.

She closed her eyes and shook her head frantically, trying to shake it clear of her confusion. Then suddenly someone was shoving her and she snapped her eyes open, ready to strike out at them and -

And she saw the outline of Ron lying next to her in the dark. She was in her bed at Shell Cottage and Ron was gently gripping her arm from when he had no doubt just shook her awake. She was breathing heavily. Hermione was so relieved to see this safe and unharmed Ron that she had to hold back the urge to burst into tears.

Ron released his hold on her arm and moved away slightly.

"You were shouting..." he murmured. Now her eyes were adjusting to the dark, Hermione could see his brow was furrowed in concern.

"Sorry," she mumbled, as she wondered exactly what she has been shouting and what Ron had made of it. "It was...I was having a horrible nightmare," she explained unnecessarily.

"They should go after a few nights, right?" Ron said, the seriousness of his tone tinged with hopefulness. She nodded.

Then, unexpectedly, Ron reached out and in a swift, bold movement wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him, and kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

"I fucking hate how much she hurt you." It was whispered angrily in to her hair, his arms tightening around her. "But you're safe here."

And that's how they stayed until they both fell asleep again.

 


	3. Day Three: Resolution

The next morning, Hermione was relieved to find that the curse's pain had subsided further, although there remained a pins-and-needles type sensation throughout her body and the occasional stabbing pain. Unlike her previous nightmares, Hermione remembered vividly the dream of the chandelier and the noose. It stayed with her as she got up, showered and dressed, as she tied her head back into a lose plait, and for all of breakfast, causing her stomach to churn nauseously. It meant she ate slowly and was too distracted to join in the others' conversation.

She was so lost in the memories of her dream, and her thoughts of her conversation with Harry the night before, that when she finally looked up from her empty plate, she was surprised to find that everyone but Ron had left the room. He was gazing at her with an odd, intense look on his face and an image of his desperately kicking legs and pleading eyes flashed across her mind. For the first time since they'd got to the cottage, Hermione had a powerful desire to be alone.

"I'm just going to go and read for a bit," she mumbled, getting to her feet.

Ron hastily stood up too, his chair scrapping loudly across the tiled floor. Hermione started to walk quickly out the room, but as she went to move past Ron, he grabbed hold of her wrist, making her halt mid-stride. She looked at him questioningly. Ron's eyes slowly wandered up and down her body before finally settling on her face. She was about to ask him what was wrong, but the intensity of his gaze made the words die in her throat.

"You're driving me crazy," he said softly. "You must know that."

Before Hermione had a chance to respond, he had relinquished her wrist and strode out the room. Hermione frowned after him, absentmindedly rubbing her arm where he had seized it. She could see into the dim hallway and watched as he stepped out the front door and slammed it behind him. The echoes of it the sound seemed to reverberate right through her.

Driving him crazy? Hermione thought, confused. They always drove each other crazy, with annoyances and disagreements, it's just what they did. But something about Ron's tone, and the way he had looked at her so intensely, made it feel like he'd meant something else entirely. Was he just telling me that I'm annoying the hell out of him? Or something else? Hermione thought with mounting irritation. And above all, _why could he never express himself adequately!?_

And she stormed out the room after him, wanting answers.

* * *

She found him behind one of the old outbuildings, a short walk along the cliff from the cottage. He was pacing agitatedly back and forth close to the building's wall, where it was sheltered from the sea wind. He didn't cease his pacing as she approached, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed and he froze, looking towards her. She approached him, moving close to the wall too so she didn't have to raise her voice above the wind. Irritation was still stirring in her. "What do you mean, 'driving you crazy'? What have I done? I'm not agreeing with you about the Elder wand, you know how I feel about that!"

Ron scoffed.

"This has nothing to do with the Hallows, Hermione." His voice was scathing. Hermione's hurt must have shown in her face because Ron's expression softened. He raised a hand and roughly rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry," he said wearily. "I haven't slept properly for days...sleeping in the same bed as you is so hard..."

Shame rose up in her Hermione, flooding her cheeks with warmth. It seemed that, despite Harry's reassurances the night before, she'd been right: she'd been a burden to Ron for the last couple of nights.

"Well, I'm sorry it's - I've - been such a pain, you didn't have to - and you don't have to again!" Hermione was aware that her shame was manifesting in defensiveness, but she couldn't seem to stop it.

Ron's body seemed to tense up again, his expression hardening. He looked angry now.

"Hermione, you have absolutely no idea - have you any idea how hard it is to lie next to you when -"

"Like I said, you don't have to do it again!" Hermione's voice was becoming shrill. "You can sleep in your own bed from now on. Maybe you can ask Fleur to tuck you in and tell you a bedtime story!"

Hermione forced herself to stop shouting. She knew what she'd just said was silly and childish, and she regretted it immediately. She really didn't want to fight with one of her best friends, not now, not like this. Ron closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists, taking a deep breath as if trying to calm himself down. In that moment, he suddenly looked so vulnerable and in the hope that it might help calm him, Hermione reached out a hand and stroked her thumb gently down his cheek.

In response, Ron grabbed her wrist and thrust her hand away from his face, roughly pushing her arm back and causing Hermione to lose her balance and stagger clumsily backwards against the wall of the building. Ron leaned towards her, not letting go of her wrist, which he'd pinned to the wall by her head. He frowned down at her, his eyes flitting intensely across her face, as if searching for something in it.

Ordinarily, and with anyone else, Hermione would have objected to being held in such a way. But she knew Ron would never hurt her. If anything, she felt safer with Ron in that moment than she had felt in a long time. She relished the closeness of him, the heat of his touch as he held her wrist...and the fact that, if she lifted her face just an inch, their lips would meet.

"Hermione," Ron breathed. A hint of anger remained in his voice. "Have you _any_ idea how hard it is to lie next to you all night - to smell you, to feel your body next to mine, when -" and he seemed to catch himself and faltered.

"When _what_?!" Hermione snapped.

Ron's grip on her wrist loosened. "When there's just so much going on in my head…" He finished weakly.

Hermione's irritation bubbled up again. _Was that his best effort at explaining himself?_

"Like what?" She knew she was pushing him, but his words had kindled ideas - hopes - in her mind. What _was_ he thinking as he lay next to her? "Ron, please. We're friends. Tell me," she persisted gently.

"I can't - you know I'm rubbish at this kind of thing - talking…feelings…."

Hermione thought. She knew Ron wasn't the best with words, unless he was making a sarcastic quip or telling a funny anecdote. He was much more comfortable expressing himself with action. Not quite sure what she was inviting, she made herself say the next words with a confidence she didn't entirely feel.

"Then show me."

"Show you?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"Yes," Hermione continued, her mouth had somehow gone dry so her words came out thick and hoarse. "Show me what you're thinking about whilst your lying next to me."

There was a tense pause as their eyes locked together and then something seemed to shift in Ron's expression. With a fierce, determined look on his face, his gaze flicked to an unruly strand of hair that had come loose from her plait. He caught hold of it, looking at it as if entranced by it, and tucked it gently behind her ear. His eyes then moved to her lips, and Hermione inhaled sharply just before Ron pressed his lips on to hers. It was a surprisingly tender kiss considering the fierceness of his expression. Hermione lips responded immediately, kissing him back as sensations were evoked in her body that she'd never felt before.

"I think of doing that," Ron murmured almost inaudibly, moving his mouth down to kiss her neck. Hermione found herself tilting her head to one side, welcoming it. He gently bit into the soft skin there and rush of arousal rippled through her body, causing her to let out an involuntary moan.

"And that," Ron whispered against her neck.

Ron continued his gentle assault on her neck, nibbling and sucking, causing such a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that Hermione found her knees becoming weak. She took her free hand and wrapped it around his shoulder, leaning on to him for support.

Then Ron moved his hand inside her coat, placing it firmly just above her waist and stroked it down her side, past her hip, down to the top of her thigh, as her pressed his lips to hers again. The kiss deepened, their tongues sinking deep in to each other's mouth as Ron's hand travelled back up her body and squeezed her breast through her clothes. Hermione let out a kind of whimpering noise she didn't know she could make.    

"And touching you," Ron's breathing was quickening now. "Like that and like -"

"There you two are!"

Hermione and Ron sprang apart as if they'd been impedimenta'ed, turning towards Bill who had just come striding round the corner of the building. Ron's older brother stopped abruptly, seemingly taking in the sight of their flushed faces and Hermione's scrabbling as she re-arranged her coat.

"Fleur still needs help with those boxes Ron. And Harry wanted to talk to you about something Hermione," Bill's voice was one of forced casualness.

Hermione's thoughts were scattered and hazy. All she could seem to focus on were the powerful sensations that were coursing through her body. She could still feel the heat of Ron's touch on her, the feel of his lips on skin.   

"Sure. We'll be back in a minute," Ron replied tersely.

Bill looked uncertainly at Ron but some understanding seemed to pass between the two brothers because Bill gave a short nod and headed back to the cottage. Ron turned back to Hermione, suddenly looking very awkward and shifting his eyes around so he was looking anywhere but at her. He opened his mouth and seemed about to speak, but then closed it again. Whatever it was that had just passed between them seemed broken. He gave her a strained smile and then turned to walk away from her. Hermione knew him so well now - she knew all of this was born out of some insidious insecurity Ron carried around with him like a lead weight.

"Ron!" Hermione reached out and grabbed his arm, forcefully turning him around to face her. She abruptly wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a hug, breathing in the smell of him and savouring his warmth. "Thank you. Thank you for showing me," she said softly into his chest.

She broke away from the hug and looked up at his face. He smiled back at her - this time a genuine, warm smile as he took her hand and turned them towards the cottage.

They were about half way back, their fingers comfortably entwined together, when Hermione realised, with wonder and relief, that the pins-and-needles, the random jolts of burning and throbbing - the last remnants of the Cruciatus Curse - had completely disappeared.

* * *

"What are you reading?"

Hermione looked up from her book to see Luna standing over her, her pale blonde hair wafting around her head in the wind, causing an ethereal halo-like effect. Hermione turned her book towards Luna, showing her the page she was reading _: Remedies and reliefs for the Short and Long Term Effects of the Cruciatus Curse_.

"Oh. Does it still hurt?" Luna asked softly, as she sat down next to Hermione. It was a little while before lunch, and Hermione had decided to read on a stone bench that sat just outside the low wall of the cottage garden, facing out to sea.

"No. Not anymore," Hermione answered, smiling gratefully. "Certain things helped get rid of the pain…I'm just trying to find out about how it worked, and why but…they're not mentioned in here." She gestured helplessly at the book.

"Hmm..what kind of things?" Luna asked in the light, curious way she had.

Hermione looked at Luna, unsure whether to share her thoughts. But if anyone was going to be accepting of odd, unusual experiences, it was going to be Luna.

"It sounds weird but...whenever I was close to Ron...I felt the pain...just, well, _dull_...like it was being smothered by something. I noticed it straight away, when I woke up when we first got here and then when he put his arm around me at Dobby's grave...anytime he was close to me, or touched me really..." Hermione faltered, unsure if she wanted to share the night time embraces, or the kiss...

Luna was looking at her shrewdly, her hair still whipping around her head at the mercy of the sea wind.

"But surely you must know what that is."

"What _what_ is?" Hermione queried.

"The thing that has the power to relieve the pain."

Hermione sometimes found Luna's matter-of-fact tone of voice infuriating. "No, Luna. That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"It's love of course," Luna said serenely.

"Love?" Hermione said, unable to keep the disdain out of her voice. But despite herself, she felt her stomach tighten and a blush warm her cheeks. "Who's love?"

"Well, Ron's I suppose," Luna continued, seemingly unfazed by Hermione's scorn. "His love for you must be quite powerful to dull the pain of the Cruciatus Curse."

"But Luna," Hermione persisted, exasperatedly. "That doesn't make sense. How can how one person _feel_ about someone else change another person physically? It's not logical."

Luna raised her eyebrows, her eyes piercing. "Hermione," she said delicately, as if she were teaching a toddler about a profound and complex truth. Her eyes drifted towards a spot in the distance, behind Hermione. "I don't think this is the first time you've come across how the power of one person's love can be harnessed, intentionally or not, to protect someone else from pain or injury."

Puzzled, Hermione turned and followed Luna's gaze to several meters up the cliff, where Harry was standing alone, looking out to sea. He had one hand raised to what Hermione assumed was the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. The gesture reminded Hermione of how Harry's mother's love had effectively saved his life.

"Apparently, there's a room in the Department of Mysteries dedicated to it," Luna went on as Hermione continued to gaze at Harry. "If they're studying love there, there must be some mysteries about it we haven't understood. Not all the answers are in these things," Hermione turned back to Luna to see her nodding at the book in Hermione's lap. "Sometimes, you just have to believe."

"Right..." Hermione murmured, turning her gaze to the sea. She needed time to think about Luna's words, to turn them over in her mind, and it seemed that Luna knew this. The two girls sat for some minutes in comfortable silence until a deafening gust of wind whipped past Hermione's ears, carrying with it the sound of waves crashing on the beach below, and broke her from her reverie.

"I best get down to the shore before lunch. I wanted to pick some sea lavender for Dobby's grave." And with another kind smile at Hermione, Luna stood and made her way to the path that led down to the beach.

* * *

"Hermione? Hermione?!"

Harry's voice jolted Hermione from her daydream. He was sat in the armchair opposite her in the sitting room, where the two had found themselves in the late afternoon. Harry was frowning at her with either curiosity or irritation, she wasn't sure.

"Sorry, I was...dreaming...daydreaming."

"I was just asking you about what you thought of speaking to Griphook again? And if he doesn't agree to help us, what you think we should do then?"

Hermione had been finding it hard to focus all afternoon. She had attempted to read about lost heirlooms of the Wizarding World - she thought some of them might be the remaining Horcruxes - but she hadn't managed to finish a sentence without slipping into the memory of that morning, of Ron's lips against hers...the warmth of his breath against her skin...his touch...

The memory triggered responses in her body that were hard to ignore, which folded into thoughts of what might have happened if Bill hadn't interrupted them. These imaginings were so seductive, allowing her an escape from the hardship and anxiety that had engulfed her experience for so long now, that Hermione felt almost powerless against losing herself in them.

Now, as she sat opposite Harry, willing her mind to focus on him and his words, she remembered their conversation of the night before and the images of her nightmare. Suddenly, with the force of a stunning spell, she realised that what Harry had been concerned about was happening: she was getting distracted. She hadn't been listening to a word Harry had been saying. And she couldn't ever remember it taking her half an hour to finish reading one paragraph, as it had earlier that afternoon. Not even when she had attempted Advanced Runes homework at one in the morning.

But something had happened between her and Ron, or something was about to happen...it seemed that if they went further they would be opening the flood gates on something that neither of them would be able to control.

Hermione thought about the remnants of Voldemort's soul that still lay scattered and hidden who-knew where. About how the dark wizard had taken control of the school - the world - she had grown to love since she was eleven. She looked at the sixteen year old boy sitting in front of her who had somehow been burdened with the task to stop it all. The boy who had finally acknowledged that he couldn't do it alone, that he needed her, and needed Ron. She thought about all Harry had had to sacrifice. The 'Chosen One' who had not chosen any of it at all.

"Harry, how can you bear it? Not being with Ginny? Not knowing when you're going to see her again? Whether she's okay?" Hermione found herself asking, her words coming out in a rush.

Harry's frown deepened. He was probably puzzled at the change in topic, but he seemed to understand it was important to Hermione because he didn't question it but answered her instead.

"I squash it."

"Squash it?"

"Squash it. Squash it into a corner of my mind so that it can't get out. So I can get on with...all this shit." Harry made a sweeping gesture, indicating the sitting room, the book by Hermione's side, probably the conversation he'd just been attempting to have with her.

"And you can do that?" Hermione asked doubtfully.

"It's easier said than done," Harry shrugged. "Sometimes I'll let it out of its corner. Look at her dot on the Marauders Map. Allow myself the luxury of thinking about her, what she might be doing. Remember summer evenings together by the lake at school... but it's not like there hasn't been enough to distract me."

Hermione nodded slowly.

"And then I just keep hoping that I'm going to see her again," Harry continued gravely. "That, when all this is over, we'll have the time to just… _be_...that's when I'll tell her all the things I've been wanting to tell her…I keep hoping that one day we'll have time for all the words we haven't had a chance to speak yet - I'm rambling," Harry finished by cutting himself off. 

"No. No, you're not," Hermione said firmly, trying to convey that she understood her best friend completely.

But they both, through unspoken agreement, changed the subject. Hermione successfully forced herself to concentrate on a conversation about Griphook and Gringotts. And when there was nothing more to discuss about it, Hermione thought again about what Harry had said. Squash it? Well, it's not like she hadn't been doing that for the last six years. Surely she could do that for a bit longer.

As the nightmare of the night before shifted on the outskirts of her thoughts and her stomach twisted at the thought of her distraction jeopardising the search for the Horcruxes, Hermione made a decision.

* * *

Just before dinner, Hermione found Ron on the beach, staring out to sea, seemingly oblivious to the wind that was battering his frame. As she approached him, he turned towards her and smiled and when Hermione reached him she turned her head up instinctively, welcoming the soft kiss he planted on her lips. Hermione savoured it, not knowing when she would feel it again.

She took a breath, part of her objecting to the fact she was going to say the words she had prepared for the last hour or so. But another part - the rational, practical, self-sacrificing part - knew it was the right thing to do, and helped to force the words off her tongue.

"Ron. I think we need to stop. Whatever's happening between us, it feels...amazing... but...I'm finding myself distracted and not quite myself, and that scares me...Harry's noticing and...we can't be distracted now." Despite her preparation, her words still seemed to come out in a confused jumble.

Ron looked at her for several moments, his expression unreadable. She'd anticipated misunderstandings, for Ron to get cross, and had prepared words for that eventuality too. So it came as a surprise to her when he nodded calmly.

"I know. Like I said, you're driving me a bit crazy...in a really good way but...it's probably not the right time to be going crazy...in good or bad ways..."

"It's not that I don't want to-"

"I know-"

"Just until all this is over. I think we need to focus on the Horcruxes and - "

"The Hallows."

"Mainly the Horcruxes," Hermione said smiling, relieved to be back in familiar bickering territory.

"Horcruxes and Hallows. Helping Harry save the Wizarding World. Right. Got it." Ron stated with mock bravado. They grinned at each other, a deep unspoken understanding hanging in the air between them.

When they'd made their way back to the cottage, they found Harry leaning against the garden wall staring out to sea. They both joined him and immediately started talking - well, arguing - about the Hallows again. As she watched Luna arrange some sea lavender on Dobby's grave, Hermione let herself get irritated and riled by Ron, because those feelings were comforting in their familiarity. For now at least, things just seemed easier that way.

 

Over the next weeks, with a willpower born out of the importance of prioritising the Horcrux hunt above anything else, Hermione and Ron managed to tame and suppress what had awakened in them during those first few days at Shell Cottage.

And so it was that one morning, a few weeks later, Harry, Ron and Hermione finally left the protective enchantments of Shell Cottage. They apparated onto Charing Cross road, just outside the Leaky Cauldron as *muggles bustled past wearing the hangdog expressions of early morning, quite unconscious to the little inn's existence* and…

Well, Reader, I'm sure you know the rest...

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you think.  
> Reviews/comments/kudos are loved. Truly. Madly. Deeply.


End file.
